If you reach God Before Me, Put in a Good Work for Me?

“Are we meeting today?” Nidhi asks on our book club thread. “Let’s do it next weekend?” I reply.

I am avoiding meeting them because I am scared I’ll cry. I have a faculty interview tomorrow. My chest is tight in the way it gets when I feel too visible.

“@Eriks, care to confirm, kind sir?” I mock him. “Haha, I thought we were meeting today too,” he responds.

I stare at the WhatsApp thread and check in with myself.

I miss them. It’s okay. Tell them you’re scared. Let someone hold it with you.

“Let’s meet in ten. I’ll send a Zoom link.”

Eriks shows up first.

“I don’t like it,” I say, shrinking my face at his square on my screen.

“Your hair is longer.” “I’ve had long hair for a while now, Noora.” “No. You now have a Justin Bieber thing going on.” “Isn’t he bald?” “No, the old Justin Bieber. You’ve got a side bang forming. You look younger—like a first-year PhD student.” “They’re 25-year-olds who get a PhD.” “Not those losers. The losers in their thirties. Like me.”

We laugh as Nidhi joins.

“How are you all?” “I’m nervous,” I reply. “Scared.” “Of the interview on Monday?” “Yeah.”, “Fill me in.” “It’s an open-rank position at UF.”, I say “I’m afraid I’ll forget how to speak English.”

Eriks hides his laughter. Nidhi admits she carries the same irrational fear. We giggle.

Then she asks, “Eriks, how are things in MN?”

I feel my muscles tighten. I don’t want to talk about it. I want us to talk about anything but it.

“It’s difficult,” he says. “My friend Adnan walks around with his papers and hasn’t left home for a week. I’ve been staying with him. The other day we were driving and he said, ‘If we get blocked by ICE, I intend to comply.’”

Nidhi responds. My brain freezes.

I thaw just enough to say, “It’s the people. I’m moved by the ground-up organizing—people protecting their neighbors without thinking about themselves.”

Eriks talks about aliases, Signal chains, how alerts go out and observers show up within minutes.

“I appreciate you guys,” he says. “We don’t have to talk about MN. Did you get the book?”

But I notice I’m talking in my head again. Not to them.

I pause long enough to say, “Eriks, I felt an urge to reach out to Elizabeth that day. Hearing you say she was at the site of Alex Peretti’s shooting, walking toward danger to collect evidence, to protect people—that takes bravery. I’m sorry, I’m crying.”

“I appreciate you doing that,” he says. “Elizabeth and I have talked about scenarios where one of us might be harmed doing what we do.”

“That would break my heart,” I say, trying to hold it together.

Growing up, I didn’t have a healthy model of a man. I met Eriks as an adult. Through him, I learned about kindness, about resistance without cruelty. He is grounding. Around him, people feel safe enough to be curious—about themselves, about the world. He feels like the brother I didn’t have. The father I didn’t have. Someone who makes me better by standing where he stands.

He resembles Alex Peretti—in resemblance and in resistance.

“Hey, you better keep your ID on you. If you meet God this week, the officials are going to think they killed a 25-year-old.”

We laugh. 

“Don’t worry about the others who have applied. Focus on what you can control. You are going to do great” he assures me about my monday interview 

“Thank you Eriks”, 

“Hey—if you meet God before I do, put in a good word for me, will you?”

End.